The Ardmore Inheritance by Rob Wyllie (reading the story of the .txt) 📕

of the ones that were built to special order for the police forces of Europe and beyond, kitted out with four-wheel-drive and a high-performance turbo-charged petrol engine. Which suited him fine, until Lexy revealed to him that she'd only passed her driving test three weeks earlier, and that when she drove her dad's car, it was normally with the probationer plates still on. Frank, not exactly relishing the prospect of her piloting this beast up the twisty roads of Loch Lomondside and beyond, asked if they had anything smaller, to be answered with a curt, 'It's all we've got pal. Take it or leave it. And make sure it's back for twenty-three-hundred-hours sharp, it's going out again in the morning.'

As they cruised along the dual-carriageway that bordered the north shore of the Clyde estuary, she'd compensated for her nervousness by limiting their speed to about thirty-eight miles an hour. From time to time Frank glanced in the door mirror, cracking a smile as he caught a glimpse of the queue of nervous motorist that had tucked themselves in behind the patrol car, uncertain as to whether they should overtake or not. For a moment he thought about asking her to get a move on, but then had second thoughts, centred mainly around his personal safety.

'So who is it we're going to see again?' Frank asked.

She turned her head to answer him, just as a white van decided on an abrupt manoeuvre into their lane.

'Woah watch out!' he shouted, his heart suddenly crashing as a dose of emergency adrenalin kicked in.

'Sorry sir,' she said, flustered. 'Didn't see him.'

'Aye, I gathered that Lexy. So maybe just keep your eyes on the road ahead for a while?'

He wondered whether he should order her to go for the full siren and flashing lights treatment. And least then everybody would get out of their way.

She gave a sheepish grin. 'Yes sir. Sorry sir. But I'm getting used to the big car now sir I think.'

'Thank god for that,' he laughed. 'So getting back to my original question.'

'Yes sir. The woman we're seeing is Lieutenant McKay's older sister, a Mrs Jess Sinclair. She lives in Helensburgh with her two kids and her husband.'

'And where is she coming from as regards to the case? Then and now I mean.'

'I don't know sir. I looked through the file obviously, but I didn't see her being called as a character witness or anything. But I found a couple of media interviews she did at the time, where she said she couldn't believe her brother could do anything like that. Nothing else sir, not that I could find anyway. And nothing recently. But I guess she must be in shock with her brother dying the way he did. Taking his own life I mean.'

'Aye, it will have been a shock to her right enough. We'll just have to be very careful, you know, try and be sensitive to her feelings and all that. But obviously we still need to find out everything she knows. So when we're in there, let me lead, but feel free to jump in if you think of anything, ok?'

'Yes sir.' He could hear the excitement in her voice, and then he remembered this was probably the first proper interview she'd been on.

The Sinclair's house was an ex-council semi-detached villa located high above the town, what the local estate agents would describe as a charming seven-apartment in a desirable location, although as far as he could remember, he'd never seen a property's location advertised as being undesirable. The sat-nav had led them straight to the door, and already he was imagining the neighbouring curtains beginning to twitch as the garish police car drew up outside. A short concrete-slabbed path led to the front door, a door which was badly in need of a repaint. They wrapped on the faded brass knocker and waited. It took nearly a minute before slowly and uncertainly, the door opened inward.

Jess Sinclair looked around forty, rather overweight with greying unkempt hair that she had secured in a ponytail with a multicoloured elastic tie. She wore a shapeless bottle-green sweatshirt and dark leggings, adding to a general careworn appearance. But then that was hardly a surprise given what she had been through in the last few weeks.

'Mrs Sinclair? I'm Detective Inspector Stewart and this is PC McDonald.'

'It was me you spoke to yesterday,' Lexy said, giving a concerned smile. 'Can we come in please?'

'Of course,' she said listlessly. 'Come through.'

She led them through a scruffy hallway into her living-room, gesturing for them to take a seat on a worn velour settee. As he was about to sit down, Frank noticed it was generously covered with silvery dog hair. Bloody perfect that was, given he was wearing his best navy suit, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. Seemingly reading his mind she said,

'Sorry it's Dolly our Jack Russell. I should've hoovered it up for you coming. But I've let things go a bit I'm afraid.'

'No, don't worry about that,' Frank said. 'You'll have had other things on your mind, I know that.'

She nodded without saying anything.

'So Mrs Sinclair,' he began, 'if you don't mind, we want to ask you a few questions about your brother and of course the events around the tragic death of his wife and the wee lassie. And if it gets too painful, just say, because we don't want to upset you at all.'

'What's this all about?' she said guardedly. 'Are you opening up the case again or what?'

He shook his head. 'Not exactly. It's just that when something like this happens, I mean your brother taking his own life, then we just like to take another wee look at the case again, only out of respect if you like. It's just routine really. Standard procedure.'

He hated telling her that little white lie, but consoled himself with the thought that it was with the best of intentions. If they were going to make progress with this investigation, keeping